Sabine also explains about her fears he’s unfaithful.
“I’ve never cheated.” Her voice is raspy as she breathes into the phone. And at the sound of this, I’m scared for her. The state of Sabine and her emotional wellbeing. Wondering if she’s sleeping or if she’s lying awake at night, scheming and worrying about how she’s going to pull this off. Every day, I wait for phone calls from Sabine, for the time she’ll announce she’s ready to go. I haven’t been sleeping either.
“Not once did I betray him,” she tells me. “But he’s been messing around. Every chance he gets, a new girl. Someone in DC or someone in Montgomery. Business travel and hotels. There’s got to be someone here too. Sometimes I wonder if it’s Monica.”
I’m not sure if I heard her right. “Monica?” But even as I ask, I’m already thinking I know the answer. “She wouldn’t do that, would she?”
She says, “Soon, you’ll find out Monica only thinks about herself.”
Thirty-Six
“I need to meet with you,” Sabine announces.
My pulse races. Since our run-in at the library, she’s only called using her burner phone and we’ve made sure to stay away from each other. Nearly a week has gone by and we’ve been careful, not wanting anyone to know what we’re plotting. Not wanting anyone to know there’s a connection between us.
“I’m bringing you the passport and my money. Can I place it in your safekeeping until I go?” Her words are rushed. Panicked. “I can’t have him finding anything.”
It’s Thursday and the kids are home which means I can’t risk them seeing Sabine. But she insists on visiting, saying she’ll do it at night once the kids are asleep. She won’t drive over—that might catch someone’s attention—but will cut through the woods behind her house, a track that will bring her past the golf course and over the hill to my section of Green Cove. She won’t be seen from the street.
“Was that a mile?” I ask, breathing relief into my lungs the moment she emerges in my backyard. My heart has been in my throat—the minutes ticking by. Waiting. Terrified thoughts of her being out in the dark alone.
But Sabine said she practiced the trek earlier in the day so she would know exactly where to go. So she can try memorizing the path.
“One point two miles,” she says, to be exact. “And no one saw me.”
On her pants, a scattering of leaves and dirt where she has pushed through brush. Sweat blankets her face turning her blonde hair into darker streaks above her forehead. “It wasn’t bad,” she says. “Not if you’re determined.”
She hands me my passport and a large stack of cash. She wants to leave the video camera in his office a few more days. Until she thinks she has enough dirt on him.
And something else, a box of hair dye and gloves for applying the dye. A pair of reading glasses that are in the bag she’s carrying, saying she’ll wear the glasses to obscure her face when she leaves.
“When it’s time, I’ll need you to drive me away. Is that okay? Will you do that for me?”
“Of course,” I tell her. “I’ll do anything.”
And I mean it. I really will. I messed up years ago, our friendship disintegrating. I won’t let that happen again. With every plan, with every sentence coming out of her mouth, Sabine is making amends by trusting me again too.
Leading her toward the shed, I show her what I’ve been setting up. The space inside that’s been cleared—it’s not perfect and there is still plenty of junk to sort through—but to one side, a pile of clothes I’ve pulled from my closet and placed in the suitcase I promise I’ll replace for Tish. Items that are out of the way and now stored on a shelf. The floor swept earlier with the air conditioning unit flipped on.
“Whenever you need it, this is a safe place for you to hide,” I tell her. “Anything you want to bring we can store it here.”
She steps inside and looks around.
“This will work,” she says, her gaze landing on Taylor’s old reading bench.
“If he hurts you again… if he tries to beat you…” My throat constricts. “If you need to get away, even if I’m not home, this is somewhere you can come. This will help.”
Her eyes soften as she stares at the ground. She grows quiet for a minute. “I didn’t mean what I said, you know. That stupid fundraiser.”
I touch her arm. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”
“But I want to. I can’t stop apologizing. I shouldn’t have said what I did, it was hurtful. And I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“My pride got in the way.”
“We were both hurt,” I remind her.
“Please forgive me, Erica. For everything.”
“I have now. It’s going to be okay.”
She wraps her arms around me for a hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I hold her tightly, feeling her narrow shoulders pressing against my chest, and let out a sigh. Helping her. Forgiving her. Knowing she’s forgiving me too. Telling her she can use the shed. These are things I can do not only to make up for last year, but long ago also. How she thought I betrayed her when I was only trying to help. I only wanted to get her medical attention, to have her parents make her well.
But she hurt me too, all those times she looked away. It’s hard to forget—even now, I try shaking them off. I tell myself we can be better now. We can move on.
This time, we can do it right.
I murmur, “Where will you go?” This is something that’s been on my mind. It’s been hurting, the realization of finally having Sabine back only to lose her again. “Where will you start over?”
She pulls away slowly away. “I don’t know but I need to think of something soon. And fast.”
“Back home?” I suggest. “Or maybe a large city, somewhere you can get lost?”
“Maybe LA or Chicago.” She mulls this over a while.
Sabine lifts her hand and points to a bracelet she’s wearing. Blue fire opal. The charm in the shape of Lake Tahoe. The charm that’s hanging from her wrist.
I look down. “You still have it…” I breathe.
“I was so young and so stupid, Erica,” she tells me. “But it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You were only trying to help me. Protect me. I should have known that.”
My heart bursts—that’s all I ever wanted to do.
On impulse I reach for the charm and feel the smooth surface of the gemstone between my fingers. My memories stir and I’m back in Lake Tahoe. Sabine standing at the shoreline, her long hair whipping behind her like a flag. The boats in the distance. Her parents setting up a picnic lunch as I splash my feet in the cold water. Sabine calling for me to join her, her hand cutting through the wind.
“I never got rid of the bracelet,” she says.
And the tears flow from my face. “Neither did I.”
Our friendship, thank goodness, is repairing just in the nick of time. But my tears are mournful and aching. Sabine is leaving again, and the pain is something I don’t know I can bear.
But she’s being so brave, I tell myself again and again. She must save herself. She’s found a way and I must help her. And I quiet my tears, knowing I will find a way to be brave for her too.
Friday night, Sabine sends a message before Monica, Carol, and their husbands arrive at her home for their July Fourth celebration dinner. It’s the night before the fireworks show. She’s shopped most of the morning and cooked straight through lunch, telling me, “I want to make it seem like things are on the up and up. Continue playing the role of the happy housewife.”
But her text messages hours later are anything but calm. Nothing like the Sabine she’s been the last few days: Methodical. Assured. The careful steps and level-headedness she’s displayed while we’ve been concocting this plan.
I slipped to Monica and Carol.
I read her text again and my heart stumbles.What do you mean you slipped?
Earlier. They stopped by. Help me! What should
I do?
I brace my phone against my head. What exactly did you tell them?
That I want to leave. Get away. Travel somewhere. I’ve been thinking about it. And they told Mark!
What did he say?
He thinks I want to leave him. But I made it sound like it was a vacation. Like I want to go on a trip. But I don’t think he believes me.
Her texts are coming in fast and furious, one after the other. Lightning speed as she fires off each one.
The camera! she says. The USB drive is missing! I think he took it.
Oh my God. The camera. The proof of what he’s done to Sabine, beating her. The recordings of him directing his team to clean up his financial mess. The twist inside my stomach clenches tighter.
I’m scared. Mark is on a tirade. I don’t know what to do.
Nothing else. She doesn’t send another message. And I can only imagine it’s because Mark has entered the room and forced her to drop her phone. Or her friends have returned and it’s time for the dinner party.
It’s 7 p.m. and I can’t sit still. I’m pacing the floor, back and forth, fear gnawing inside my gut. My fear escalating for Sabine. Waiting to hear from her—every minute feeling like an eternity—waiting for any word to let me know she’s all right. Hoping to God that Mark isn’t going to beat her again. That he isn’t going to force everyone to leave his house.
I should call the police. I should drive over there right now and make sure she’s okay. But I don’t. She wouldn’t want me to do that. We’d be ruining the plan.
An hour later, a message from Sabine and I leap to my phone.
The things I know about Mark, what he’s up to.
Are you okay? Are you safe?
Someone else is closing in on him, she says. Bad business deals.
My fingers jolt with the adrenaline rush. Who??
Jacob Andrews.
I stare at the name on my screen. The man who wants so badly to beat Mark and become county commissioner.
Are you okay? I ask again.
But she doesn’t answer.
What is happening??
There’s no reply.
It’s the last time I hear from her that night. She doesn’t respond the next day. And at the pool, only more confusion. Only more questions. That cryptic look from Sabine as I hold myself back from shrieking across the deep end demanding to know if she’s all right. The giant question mark that’s hanging in the air because Sabine’s not ready to leave yet. We haven’t finished the rest of the details. I don’t know when she’s ready to cut and run.
Because when she walks out that pool gate, I am no longer getting responses to my messages.
Part Five
Present
Thirty-Seven
It’s Wednesday and the police are marking the fourth day since Sabine Miller went missing with a press conference. They’re following up on several leads, they tell the public, but there is still no sign of Sabine or evidence leading to her captor. They are still classifying this as a search and rescue.
I decide to go to the office but only after sending an email to my boss and copying our team that I will not be speaking to anyone about the case or anything they’ve heard, including Monica’s comments that Sabine Miller may have come upon my passport—the odd coincidence, Monica alludes, since we knew each other in high school. Understandably, the press are jumping all over this, the media excited to fill their reports with fresh material.
Damn that woman. Now along with Tish’s phone blowing up for interviews, I’m fielding requests from the media too. In the morning, several reporters are camped outside my house. As I reverse from the garage, one of them jogs alongside my car and raps on the window.
I wave him off, mouthing the standard, No comment, not wanting him to see the terrified clench to my jaw, how I could burst out of my skin. But he insists.
“Have you tracked down your passport? Is there any credibility Sabine Miller could have used it to escape? Did she talk to you about this?”
I slam on my brakes, deciding the best thing I can do right now to calm my shaking hands and show I have nothing to hide, is to demonstrate everything is on the up and up. Just as Sabine did. I’ll make a couple of comments to the reporter and let it rest. I’ll face them head on and then get out of here.
Rolling down my window, his eyes widen with zeal, relishing the prospect I might take the time to speak to him. But I draw the boundary and stay behind my window that’s cracked only a few inches.
I tell the reporter what I’ve been practicing in my head. “The tracking service indicates my passport was delivered to my home address on June twenty-third and not to the Millers’ residence. There is no indication she has it or has used it. Sabine Miller and I went our separate ways after high school and we live separate lives, anyone can attest to that. But since she’s gone missing, I think of her every day just like everyone else. I’m praying she remains safe and well.”
None of it lies. All of it can be confirmed.
The tremble in my hands lightens for a moment, long enough for me to roll up my window, finished for now, and cut my eyes away from the reporter’s face so I can back out the rest of the driveway. He steps from my car.
A nervous glance in the rearview window as I see him lift a phone to his ear with another reporter running over to find out what I said.
Driving off, I’m reminded of how insane this situation this is, but how calm and collected we must remain. Maintain patience and control with zero chance of slipping up. It’s crazy that reporters are this close to my house with Tish unknowing, Charlie still inside, and Sabine Miller is hiding only a few yards away inside my shed. Very much alive.
At the office, I walk straight past the receptionist’s desk. Pam, a badge dangling around her neck, pops up from her chair as soon as she sees me. She wants to call out, slow me down and ask a question, but she doesn’t get a chance as a delivery worker blocks her at the counter and asks her to sign for a package. I take the back stairs, avoiding any possible run-ins at the elevator and arrive at the second floor—a few more steps to my office.
Just as Sabine organized her dinner party not wanting those closest to her to suspect anything, I’m going to have to do the same. Continue acting as if everything is okay too. I’ll put in a day’s work since there is a proposal that needs following up and data calls that are due, although how on earth I’m going to be able to concentrate is beyond me. But I must try. I’ve sent that email to the staff and am hoping everyone will respect my wishes, Tish’s too as she’s submitted a request to take off the rest of the week.
I hate that Tish has gone through hell these last few days, but in the beginning, I didn’t know—I honestly didn’t know what happened to Sabine—and if it involved Jacob Andrews or not. Finding out Tish was dating him came as a total surprise, rocking me completely since she’d kept him a secret. We had no idea—Sabine and I both. That was an element we had not accounted for.
And to make things worse, Sabine had gone radio silent. Not a word from her on Saturday except for that mysterious look at the pool. All I could think was something had occurred at the dinner party and everything was flipped on its head, and I had no clue what was going on. When she went missing, I didn’t think she’d run on her own; nothing was what we’d planned. I couldn’t ask her if Mark was the one who’d gone after her or if Jacob was the man who’d attacked her either.
She vanished into thin air and I couldn’t get through to her on her burner phone. Those next twenty-four hours were some of the darkest times in my life—my worst fears she’d been taken. All of our prep, our actual plan, went to hell on Saturday night after the fireworks show ended and we drove by her house, shivers running up and down my spine to see police in her driveway, my fear something had happened to her and she hadn’t been able to leave in time.
It’s those same details I’m still unable to share with Tish.
Secured behind my closed office door, thankfully no one comes to see me and I�
��m able to put in a few hours of work although it’s sub-par at best. Fractured. My mind keeps racing and thinking about the last few days. Including the days ahead.
More recently, the food I’ve been sneaking out to the shed when Tish isn’t looking. The air conditioning Sabine only runs at sporadic times so Tish won’t notice. The suitcase Tish asked about that I used to store clothes for Sabine. The blue Tahoe bracelet I’ve returned to my friend when Tish wasn’t looking.
It’s been five days and we’ve had no choice but to move to Plan B. Sabine and I must be patient.
A message flashes across my phone. Can we get together? It’s Terry asking for another date, and I’m surprised. Like Tish said, the pair of us are really on a roll with seeing each other lately. But the timing and the media breathing down my neck is far from best.
I’m at work.
How about tonight?
I tell him no. Not with everything that’s happening. Surely he’s read the latest reports and knows the new information Monica is trying to link to me. What I should do instead is finish up at the office and go home. Make sure Charlie and Tish and, most of all, Sabine are okay.
Soon, and very soon Sabine told me, she’s going to make her move. It’s time we move her out of the shed.
Another message: I’d like to bring you something, Terry adds. A gift.
Well, that’s kind of him. And I scratch my wrist knowing I should say no again. I should go straight home.
Can I meet you?
I’m thinking of an excuse when he makes a suggestion.
A parking lot just off the bypass. That old strip mall on your way home.
It’ll take five minutes, he says.
Flowers. Our cars are parked side by side in the rear of the parking lot. Terry is standing in the space between our vehicles and leaning against his truck as he hands me a bouquet of pink and white roses, most of them in full bloom. They’re beautiful. He looks bashful and proud as he places the bouquet in my hands.
The Missing Woman: Utterly gripping psychological suspense with heart-thumping twists Page 21
